


wishing back the hope

by n0luv



Series: wishing back [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 80s, 90s, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Original Character, Alternate Universe - Slytherin Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Slytherin Ronald Weasley, Antisocial Disorder, Beloved, Bullying, CoS, Depression, F/M, Gen, GoF, HBP, Hogwarts, Insecurity, Lord Voldemort - Freeform, Mental Illness, Mentality, Morally Questioning, Morals, Obsession, OotP, Orphanage, POA, POV Albus Dumbledore, POV Female Character, POV Galatea Cressida Rosier, POV Harry Potter, POV Male Character, POV Ronald Weasley, POV Tom Riddle, PS, Psychotic Disorder, Ravenclaw Hermione, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Ron, Sociopathic Disorder, Teenagers, Teens, ad, dh, these kids need therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0luv/pseuds/n0luv
Summary: In which, three, lonely children desperately make amends to their lives, trying to find solace in another.. and tragically succeed.Young Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter and muggle-raised halfblood, Galatea Rosier become severely dependent on a conscious sliver of Tom Riddle’s soul.As Tom drastically alters the children’s personality’s for his own good, these lonely, desperate children soon find themselves content with being controlled, for as long as Tom never leaves.
Relationships: Galatea Cressida Rosier & Draco Malfoy, Galatea Cressida Rosier & Ronald Weasley, Galatea Cressida Rosier & Ronald Weasley & Harry Potter, Galatea Cressida Rosier & Tom Riddle, Galatea Cressida Rosier/Draco Malfoy (?), Galatea Cressida Rosier/Ronald Weasley (?), Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/being crazy, Hermione Granger & Galatea Cressida Rosier, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley & Galatea Cressida Rosier, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley & Original Female Character, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Ronald Weasley & Tom Riddle
Series: wishing back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806865
Kudos: 7





	1. she is like rain on a wished for summer day

**Disclaimer:** All these characters belong to J.K Rowling, (with the exception of Galatea Rosier, in which her father and last name are the only things pertaining to Rowling,) I’m just playing in her sandbox.

 **Authors Note:** So, I’m currently writing this with a vague plot in mind and from the story description you can probably figure out for yourselves that this is one of those Tom wakes in Harrys head.. but not really. The horcrux is placed between three children, (ie. Harry, Ron, Galatea.) and each have their own personalitys and goals, but all of their ‘main’ goals are quite similar.

Below is information you won’t get from the description.

 **Premise:** This book, (wishing back the hope) is part one of a two or three, (possibly four) part series, (the wishing back series) and will cover Ron, Harry and Galatea’s pre-Hogwarts years and years one and two. The sequel(s) will contain year three, four, five, six— the end. 

**What you won’t find in this story:** Slash; these are children. (In the sequels, there will be relationships mentioned and briefly part of the story, but won’t be the main focus.) God!Harry, God!Ron, Harry-only-centric, (I’ve been toying with the idea of Tom being in other characters heads and quite liked it, so Harry won’t be the only one with questionable actions and morals. Also, I don’t see the appeal in God-like eleven year olds so.. no.) and Bashing (I refuse to bash characters for plot.)

 **Inspiration:** Alright, so if you’ve read The Imaginizer’s “Harry Potter and The Accidental Horcrux” you can see the similarities. And yes, this book is _severely, severely _inspired by it. In the midst of being _very_ sad it had been abandoned, I’d created a story very similar to it, for my achey breaky heart. Many topics, themes and ideas are taken and inspired by the book and I will be putting a disclaimer for whichever idea belongs to them, just to give rightful ownership. Now, if you as well are heartbroken that it isn’t being uploaded anymore, feel free to read this and feel like it is canon to it. I certainly will.

 **Warnings and Rating:** This is rated T, but does have the following matureish topics: depictions of abuse, mental illness, foul language, depictions of violence and character death. You’ve been warned.

I think I’ve covered all that’s needed, so if you haven’t clicked off by now, thank you for being interested in my writing and story. Happy reading!

* * *

It was raining. On the creeping beginnings of a summer day in June, you wouldn’t expect it. Faint droplets that sprinkled on the windows soon turned to pouring. A girl was stood watching from her room.

Everyday at the orphanage was a bad one, but the pitter patter of the rain drops made it better. Nothing made her happier.

It was the uncouth hour of five and she was up. She wasn’t tired, no, she woke around this time. Not because she could go out in the rain; she wasn’t let out anymore. It was because of Tom. Tom was a boy her age, who she could only speak to a few times a week at early hours like these.

_You seem to be preoccupied._

She jumped from her spot at the window before calming herself. “Hi, Tom.” She grinned at the boy. He merely scoffed and they both continued watching the droplets of rain. 

_I never liked the rain. Why do you enjoy this insufferable activity?_

As cold as the boy spoke to her, she kept smiling. “The pitter-patter is interesting.” 

Tom remained silent, watching her. 

_You are quite odd._

She giggled at him before a loud voice came from her door. “Tom! I need to go! I’ll see you again.” He nodded and watched as the door behind was slammed open. 

“You! Didn’t I tell you to clean the kitchen tiles yesterday!” The nun spit out her words like she was touching something dirty. The girl nodded as fast as she could. “Stop talking to yourself at these early hours. Its driving the rest of us spare..” The woman muttered before leaving her doorframe. The child looked back to her spot where Tom was, and he was still there as always. She tilted her head at him before he shooed her off. 

_It’s not like I’ll leave, my dear.. Galatea Rosier.._

The girl scampered off to scrub the tiles until her knees ached and her fingers were blistered. These times were like many, having to clean mindlessly just to get fed. Tom watched through her eyes as she breathed in and out, the achings of hunger getting to her. As much as Tom hated his own orphanage and the children in it, they never starved him.

Here was a young girl, forced to physical labor just to get scraps of bread or soup. The church had more than enough food to go around, but the only reason she was excluded was because she was particularly odd.

This girl was a magical child. Not that they knew; adorned with the pureblood name of Rosier. The nuns treated her harshly because she’s.. _done_ things. Accidental magic. The nuns think the girl’s a demon spawn, after witnessing her summon a doll when she was young. Whenever she gets near, they clutch their crosses to their chests. Galatea knows her name, ‘Galatea’ but she doesn’t think its her _real_ name, because the nuns tell her she’s a freak and a demon. She doesn’t realize her full name is true proof of her _real_ roots, as Tom says. She doesn’t believe she’ll get called her name, until Tom.

The day they met was raining, too. It was March. The air was crisp and wet, unlike the humid one of the present. It was before Galatea wasn’t allowed out anymore. After a considerable amount of scrubbing; this time of the bathroom walls, Galatea was placed outside. She lay against the large oak tree in the far back of the orphanage yard. No one dare go out in the pouring weather, but it was the only time Galatea was allowed to. She took her chances under the tree’s thin leaves and was mildly protected. 

_Why’re you out in this weather?_

She recoiled from her left, where the voice was. She gulped, and turned to where the words came. A boy, around her age was sat beside her. He wore old-school brown trousers with straps. His shirt adorned black-white stripes and his long, knee socks matched. His straight raven locks were plastered neatly upon his head, either from the rain or over combing. He was a handsome child with a thin nose, cheeks and aristocratic cheekbones. His eyes were a surprisingly sweet almond shape, and if his cold, dark brown eyes were rather a warm honey brown, he would have been an adorable boy; perhaps one of the handsome children whom were adopted as fast as they were abandoned.

Galatea wasn’t one of those children. Although she was told by some parents she was pretty; with her own raven locks that reached her waist, her hazel, almost yellow, heavy lidded eyes and same thin and aristocratic features of the boy in front of her, she never did get adopted. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t allowed to the adoption hearings anymore or that the nuns fed the parents words that she was a nasty freak. 

_What’s with the staring?_

The boy’s eyes thinned at her.

Galatea huffed, before answering. “I’ve never seen you at this orphanage before. Are you new?”

He shook his head, still watching her.

_You still didn’t answer my previous question._

She blinked, before turning away. “I’m out here because I can.”

His eyes thinned, once more and he observed her carefully.

_You can, or because you have to?_

Her eyes widened and she rapidly cursed him. “I’m normally not allowed out, so I take whatever I can get. Don’t want myself getting sick.”

Tom’s eyes remained trained on her, whilst they sat under the large oak tree with thin leaves, the comfortable pitter-patter of rain continuing.

A faint noise was heard from the orphanage building and Galatea stood. “Don’t stay out in the rain too long.” She waved him off, running towards the building. Tom sighed, leaning against the oak wood. He watched Galatea’s faint figure blurring in the distance. 

* * *

Being Galatea was hard. Galatea lay upon her bed, after scrubbing the kitchen floors and having some bread. She was now currently locked in her room. It was a regular occurrence. After doing her chores, she would stay in her room until the late night, when the children in the orphanage came inside for dinner. That was when she was allowed out, during the sundown. She would lay on the tickling tendrils of grass and watch the sky. When it got very late, when the stars were out, she went back in. Galatea would stay in her room until the next sunrise. Then repeat.

Galatea hasn’t known any other life than this, but Tom shows her things. Memories. His memories. It first started off with Tom being in an orphanage, like her. Then his memories became great things. Things of magic. It’s comforting. Comforting to know she’ll leave soon. Comforting to know that she won’t become nothing. Comforting to just.. _know_. Galatea didn’t know a lot of things, before. She didn’t know her name. She didn’t know who she was, hell she didn’t even know she was in London. To her, the orphanage was the world. Her room was her own country. She didn’t _know_ anything else.

Tom _needed_ her to know. Tom talks to Galatea as if.. needing to direct the conversation somewhere. Like he’s needing her to talk about something. Galatea doesnt know what it is, but hangs onto every word Tom utters.

Galatea loves Tom. She knows you can’t technically _love_ an unknown entity in your head, but Tom is the closest thing to family she has. The children at the orphanage.. are difficult. Different. They seem downright _scared_ of her. The nuns look at her like shes a _danger_. Tom doesn’t. Yes, Galatea can’t _see_ Tom’s face half the time, but it’s in his voice. When she says she needs to go, his voice tilts with worry and wavers. When she tells him she hasn’t been adopted yet, his voice softens and comforts her with although, short, clipped sentences, give her comfort in their own.. Tom Way. Although Tom certainly _looks_ like Galatea’s age, he doesn’t talk like it. Neither are his memories around her age. She shows memories of him at school. Him being much older than Galatea. But.. whenever she _see’s_ Tom, he’s the same almost-adorable boy. 

Sometimes, Galatea wonders if Tom is actually real. If magic is actually real. She wonders if maybe she is just, a wee bit _too_ lonely at the orphanage and made Tom up. He certainly _feels_ like what a talking voice in your head would be like, but she obviously doesn’t have any reference material. She utterly trusts Tom, as she has no one else to trust and if Tom isn’t real, there isn’t any fault to telling him everything.

But, Galatea believes in Tom and in magic. She needs to. She needs to have a purpose. Had she been born with a proper family, she would’ve had a whole lot of purposes, like wanting to become a doctor or to study hard, but Galatea hasn’t _had_ the luck to be born that way. First, Galatea lived just for the sake of living; just to see if anyone, anything, would change in her life. Then Tom gave her _new_ purpose. Tom says he needs Galatea.

So she happily lives another day, _just for Tom._ She would gladly do anything for Tom, because, now.. she’ll always have someone by her side.

Forever, and onwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Provide feedback below. I haven’t written Tom Riddle, ever.


	2. his heart is hardened with hurt and he wishes for the cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said last chapter, I’ll be listing what idea’s I’m borrowing from ‘Harry Potter and The Accidental Horcrux’. 
> 
> The idea I’ve used for this chapter is: Tom teaching Harry to be observant. 
> 
> If, by some chance, The Imaginizer reads this and wishes for me to take down this story/remove their ideas, just tell me!

Ronald Weasley decided that he was.. wrong.

Not at _fault,_ obviously. Just wrong. He wasn’t normal. Well, of _course_ he wasn’t normal, he was a magical child.

But he wasn’t.. _normal_.

Ronald was sitting in the front yard of The Burrow. His eyes trained themselves on the children of the muggle village. Two girls were seen sitting out on the side of a shop. They were patting their hands against eachother’s singing a soft, up-down tune. He focused himself on the girls. The one on the left had cinnamon brown hair (or was it just brown? Ron couldnt see very well from here,) and wore a cream puff sleeve top with light denim overalls. Her red-white striped socks sagged and stained against the green grass. Her counterpart had sandy blonde hair and wore a pink sleeveless flower patterned dress.

It looked like something his mum would buy for Ginny. Ginny would’ve puffed her cheeks out and changed into trousers and a jumper before trying to convince Bill and Charlie to let her ride their old training brooms. Never mind that, he watched the girls again. Now instead of playing with their hands they sat talking against the brown colored building behind them. He’d seen these girls in the village before, heard their mothers call out for them in the market. Their names were Sarah and Sandy. They were sisters, as different as they looked with Sarah’s hazel eyes and Sandy’s bright blue ones. Odd enough, the one with cinnamon hair was the one named Sandy, not the _sandy_ blonde one. He was currently observing these girls and the people who went by. He didn’t question _why_ Tom told him to do this, Ron thought it _was_ odd but Tom knew best.

Tom was a voice in his head. Another reason why he questioned his sanity. Tom seemed a little.. wrong, as well. Morally. Tom was tactiful. Clever. Ron, too. But he acted on his impulses, unfortunately. Ron’s mind was complex, like a chess game. But his emotions got the better of him. Ronald used to act on his impulses often, before Tom showed up. If he wanted to hit his brother after he played a prank on him, he would. If he wanted to pull Ginny’s hair if she took his share of pudding, he would. Nothing was holding him back. Emotions, empathy, all that nonsense, was not there.

Or more or less just being ignored by Ron. 

But Tom needed him to appear.. charming. Or atleast be civil. So he tolerated his siblings, gave polite, short answers to his parents. Although he _can_ get angry from time to time, he’s learned to have _control_. He’s still a recluse who spends most of the time in his room than outside, he still prefers a game of chess over quidditch but wouldn’t protest playing if needed. He doesn’t do anything _outrageous_ anymore, for the most part. He’s had his fair share of broken pillows in his room, but no more hurting his siblings.

Ron is snapped from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. He faces her, as she leans through against the front door. She gestures for him to come in, “Lunch is ready, Ronald.” She says. He looks back at the girls, who’ve just started walking down towards the village. He silently nods and enters the house.

The Burrow, albeit The Weasley’s were a poor family, was moderately large. The house was a bungalow in the 70s, but that was a soon discarded idea when children kept coming along and it became a seven story home. Ron made a beeline for the kitchen and was greeted with their large, oak dining table that adorned several mismatches chairs and stools at each end.

At the table sat Bill and Charlie, discussing school work, his twin brothers, Fred and George, whispering to themselves, Percy, well into eating breakfast, his little sister, Ginny, just sitting down, his father hurrying out of the garage and his mother bustling around the kitchen counter. Ron took a seat by Ginny and a plate was served to him by his mother. In his hands was an old, battered copy of _‘Standard Book of Spells’_ Volume 6, by Miranda Goshawk. Albeit his eldest brother were enrolled in school, Bill was just starting fifth year. So it was a _very _old copy that his mother once owned. His parents wondered how he was so efficient in reading, being only six and how he understood so much of it. Merlin knows that Molly and Arthur Weasley barely remember their old textbook contents.

He flipped opened the crisp yellow pages to where his paper book mark was. Chapter 19, Silent Casting, otherwise known as Nonverbal Spells. Tricky it was, as hard as wandless casting. Although Ron did have an affinity for wandless magic; jinxing his brothers, making things disappear, he never did try nonverbal spells, perhaps he had done it once before by accident. He picked at his food, focusing on the words on the page before leaving the table for his room. His family didn’t spare a glance; he was known for being quite studious but always sweet, he was said to be a blend of all his brothers, no doubt a reflection of all their teachings when he was a child and when they _so_ wanted to influence him. 

* * *

Silent casting was hard. Very hard. No doubt it was, seeing as Ron was only six. But Tom pushed him. Tom had always taught Ron things in a matter of being very pushy. Like he had no time to spare; he certainly did, of course, but that didn’t stop him. He taught Ron as if it was for a greater good or more or less his own personal agenda. Ron didn’t— couldnt, question it. He started being taught a year ago, right after his brothers almost tricked him into an unbreakable vow. It certainly shocked Ron, to find out his brothers almost made him promise to a vow that could _kill_ him and by a _talking_ voice in his head, no doubt.

His first assignment was to try and read every book in their house. A spare closet was used to store all their old school things like old robes, wands, books, quills, parchment, the works. In the back of their magically enlargened closet was trunks full of books. The books were certainly old, some being from his parents time at Hogwarts and some being from his _grandparents_ time at school. Reading old books could possibly be a hazard, seeing as more spells were added now, more cautions and regulations. But the one thing he got from reading old spell books, were the spells that had since then been pulled from their textbooks. Some spells, such as Confringo, Diffindo and Bombarda had since then been pulled from books and shelves, never to be used until taught by someone else. Lucky for Ron, his grandparents textbooks had many unwarranted for spells, like the previous Confringo, Diffindo and Bombarda.

Even luckier for Ron was that he could do as many spells as he could manage in his household, since, well, they were a _magic_ household. Had Ron been a muggle, any signs of magic in their house would’ve immediately set off an alarm in The Ministry, but seeing as his parents were both fully fledged and capable wizards, The Ministry would just expect they were letting extra frustration off or creatively using a spell for cleaning.

At first, magic was a little hard for Ron. He knew his magic wasn’t anything stunning, like, _Harry Potter_ magic, (Harry Potter vanquished Voldemort at what, age one?) he was _six_ _._ But he knew it wasn’t as weak as the _normal _magical six year old.

He’d seen it before, his magic. It was mid afternoon and his older brother, Percy, was being particularly prattish. He played a chess game against younger Ronald and naturally, seeing as he was five years older than Ron, he won. Although he just won against a _five_ year old, Percy still felt quite boisterous. It infuriated Ron. For the love of Merlin, Percy, _no one cares you won against your brother who is five year’s your **junior**. _Ron nearly threw the chess pieces through the window. Ron stalked up the stairs to his room, feeling still quite mad.

Once he entered his room and closed the door, (Merlin, he wished he had a bloody lock,) he _screamed_. Not _out loud_ of course, his mother would’ve had a heart attack then smacked him upside the head if he did, but he still did scream, mentally. He had been looking out the window, where Bill and Charlie were playing a friendly game of quidditch. Ginny and his mum were gardening and struggling to pull out a few gnomes.

Ron, who had done this a few times, focused _all_ his anger on a plant pot near the left of his mum and sister. It worked for him to just let it _all_ out. He had been getting a few bouts of accidental magic but _never_ this. Apparently, Ron didn’t know this, magic often acted out on emotion. Particularly, strong emotion. Most of the time that Ron focused any emotion on one thing to let it out, it was never as _severe_ as this. He really shouldn’t have been that angry, should’ve pouted a little then go out and watch his brothers play quidditch, but he _didn’t_. Perhaps it was anger building up, from his twin brothers, his mother, his sister, anything really, but it was _extremely_ strong.

His mother recoiled from her left, shielding Ginny when the dirt garden patch _underneath_ the plant pot **exploded**. The clay pot shards hit several other objects that definitely either cracked or fully broke, but Ron.. he _did_ that. He staggered from his window on the fifth floor and went outside to check up close what happened. Ron’s father had since then come out from the garage and was inspecting the scene. He conversed a little worriedly to Ron’s mum before sending everyone in. Ron definitely had a few more incidents quite the same, but he tried to keep it inside his room, just in case. 

With Ron’s magic, to lift a quill or piece of parchment took hours in his room and painful willing into the air. His magic was stronger than most, but it acted largely on what he was feeling like. After a week of practicing and mind-yelling into the air at his desk he _finally_ got it to lift into the air, just a few feet up, for a few seconds before he practically passed out unto himself. A few more hard weeks after that, Ron could willingly, wandlessly, longer and a lot less painfully, lift objects into the air, varying from small objects such as the previous quills and parchment to larger and heavier things like (although he’d never show anyone) his father’s muggle tools, his mothers dresser (if he willed enough, but he certainly would sleep for 10 hours straight after,) and the likes. Tom, however much Ron wished for his approval, however much Ron wished just for a small, ‘Good work’ just responded in the same clipped sentences and made him start on another work of magic.

* * *

Ron’s parents are worried. They were more assured when he would pull Ginny’s hair and have tantrums, because they _thought_ that was normal for a young child. Now.. he acts too mature. Too polite. He doesn’t talk to his parents anymore. He doesn’t go outside and watch his brothers in awe. His voracious appetite has water down to small bites, unfinished plates and slight nods at the dinner table. They keep finding broken things in his room. Molly doesn’t know what happened and she _really_ wishes she does. She misses scolding the hotheaded boy who’d eat too much before dinner. She doesn’t know where the boy who looked up to his brothers and was overly protective of his sister went. She wants to _know_. She’s scared _something_ happened. She’s scared that maybe, Ron was like this the whole time and she was just too unattentive, she’s scared she never saw the _signs._

Is she _too late?_

Arthur assures her that Ron’s just a little introverted like Percy, but Merlin knows he’s as worried as her. He knows they haven’t been perfect parents, but Ron seems.. different from the rest. He talks to himself sometimes, whispering curses under his breath. Arthur didn’t have the heart to scold him, because at the time he looked so _sad_. Never had he seen his son like that. Like someone took his heart out, crushed it and stomped on it. Ron had his fair share of tears, either from a petty argument with his brothers or the usual clumsyness. Here he looked absolutely heartbroken. Arthur couldn’t place on why he looked like that, he’d never seem such a look, not even on his oldest children. He notices that Ron fidgets. With his fingers, pulling at his ears, stretching the fabric at the rims on his clothes. He doesn’t do it all the time, like a habit, but when his brothers tease him or pick on him.

Arthur’s guessed it’s a calming mechanism. He knew that Ron was quite hotheaded like some of his brothers, but seemed to calm down recently. He doesn’t know what caused the sudden change, Arthur feels a bit better that he’s realized it, but he wishes he knew. He feels as if he doesn’t know a thing about Ronald. Arthur knows he’s fairly busy, that he tries and barely does talk to his children, but he thought it was _enough_. But it wasn’t. He feels so _far_ from his youngest son. He feels like he failed him, because now he doesn’t open up like before.

He _was too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter and not sure if I did Ron’s character well.
> 
> I do have a certain side of Ron I’ll be acting upon and stemming from, but I’m still not sure if it feels like him. My main goal is not to demonize nor ‘darken’ him but to make him act out differently and certainly make him still feel.. Ron-Like. I don’t want to make an Original Character and just call him Ron. 
> 
> Please tell me down below.


	3. what he doesn’t know, will kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is quite slow paced, but we’re getting there. 
> 
> Shopping will be in a few more chapters.

_”Not Harry! Please, I—I’ll do anything.. just— not.. Harry!”_

_The red haired woman collapsed in a flash of green light, similar to her husband whom lay outside the door. The black cloaked figure rustled in the wind towards the white cot before raising their wand to recite the same curse towards the child, Harry, his mother had said._

_With a flash of green light.._

”No!” Harry, whom had just previously been sleeping on his thin mattress awoke, hit his head upon the low cupboard ceiling. He panted, his body covered in malicious cold sweat. He swallowed before the blindingly warm yellow sunlight hit him through his small cupboard window (more like vent.) He scrambled for his glasses and slipped them on and observed his surroundings.. definitely not a blown up nursery.

Harry got up to make breakfast, as per his relatives orders before having to sit down again; they forgot to unlock the door. He’d just have to wait until they woke and yelled at him for not being up, rather than not be allowed out at all for trying to break open the cupboard door. He lay in the small cupboard , rubbing his eyes. Just _what_ was that dream? He’d had that dream before, just not from that.. point of view. He’d had the dream from the cot, being smothered by the red headed woman before being put down and watching the lady fall, unmoving and unconscious.

The woman called her child Harry; The woman seemed all too familiar but he knew it couldn’t be _his_ mother; Harry’s parents died in a car crash. Didn’t they? Harry shook his head, better he forget these things for now before Aunt Petunia scolds him for daydreaming. And he was right, clipped steps from the stairs came to and rattled open the chains of his door. He was met with the long, horse-ish face of his aunt. Her short blond curls were done uptight and she pulled Harry from the cupboard, scolding him for not being up, (You didn’t unlock my door, Harry thought) and pushing him to the kitchen.

It wasn’t that long of a day for six year old Harry, just as normal. He hadn’t gone to school at St. Grogory’s, (which perhaps Harry was a _little_ grateful for) although Dudley did, so he was sure they were keeping him back to do something. And he was right, Harry’s Uncle Vernon had a business partner from Grunnings coming for dinner with his wife. Harry spent most of the day cleaning the house, garden, rooms and doing much cooking and before he knew it, it was six pm.

Throughout the day, Harry had little more than water, pieces of bread and scraps during cooking. It definitely wasn’t enough for a normal child, but for Harry it was little less than a feast.

Harry currently sat in the back of his cupboard and he could hear his Aunt and Uncle laughing and Dudley just eating up the food Harry prepared, whilst Harry sat alone, locked in the small cupboard, like a broom. 

* * *

He nodded to the librarian, as she signed out his books. The woman was a tad suspicious of him, seeing as his cousin was a rude boy who ripped apart books in her library, leading to him being banned. But Harry was a polite child, who spent hours on end reading thick fiction novels and from time to time checking them out. She handed the two, yellow paged books to him and he smiled eagerly at her. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

Harry had good habits and manners, particularly at home (would he really call that house, his home?) because his relatives wouldn’t spare a chance to reprimand him. He silently walked off to his classroom, hiding the thick books in his cubby. It was currently recess, and his teacher gave him permission to stay in the library, if he would be quiet and wouldn’t bother the librarian, Mrs. Hughes. The bell rung for class and Harry slipped into his seat at the middle of the room.

It was an amazing spot, he could see the green board quite well, despite that his glasses were certainly _not_ his prescription, Dudley was at the back of the room, since the teachers thought Harry cheated off of Dudley last semester (which he _didn’t,)_ and the people beside him were nice children, unlike the boys apart of Dudley’s gang and the girls who told him he was weird because he wore his cousins hand-me-downs. Children piled into the classroom, taking their spots in the thin plastic seats.

The teacher walked in, beginning class..

* * *

”Where were you, _Freak?_ ”

Freak, yes. Harry’s commonly known nickname between Dudley’s gang, (they didn’t know why Dudley called his abnormally skinny cousin that, but it didn’t matter,) and the Dursley Family. Harry lay on the ground, elbows digging into the gravel as Dudley pushed him down again. Although the children were no less, well, _children,_ Dudley was a cruel boy. Alongside his friends, Piers, Gordon and a few other boys Harry hadn’t cared to learn the names of, they ruthlessly bullied him.

They chased Harry throughout the school yard, unstopping but unfortunately too slow. Harry was extremely skinny but fast and agile, running farther than the others could manage for such an extended period of time. Dudley and his crew often played ‘Harry Hunting’ for fun but this was because Dudley hadn’t seen Harry outside the whole day, (he was inside reading, not that Dudley would ever understand _why,_ ) and didn’t get to push the poor boy around. Although their game should have alerted the teachers multiple times throughout the boys’s years at school, the teachers believed Harry was a troublemaker. Gossip spread fast and burning like fire in Privet Drive, so the ‘outrageous, rude and abnormal’ cousin of darling Dudley Dursley had been known for years now. It definitely spread to the teachers, as they, too, resided in Privet Drive. 

Harry felt much.. hatred, for the residents of Privet Drive and staff at St. Grogory’s. There was one woman who he felt less than impartial too, but better than the rest.

Mrs. Figg. She was a kind, somewhat batty, (not that Harry thought so, his uncle often described the short woman as such,) old lady who lived on Wisteria Walk, near The Dursley’s residence. She often looked after Harry during occasions like Dudley’s birthday or when the Dursley’s ate out and Harry couldn’t be bother to brought but couldn’t be left alone either. Mrs. Figg was sweet and although had too many cats for Harry’s liking, she gave him sweet smelling, aromatic tea with biscuits and let him watch the telly. 

Although his time with the woman was not forever, he enjoyed her silent company, the cats included. But not all people in Privet Drive were as pleasant. Including the Dursley’s, rows and rows of concerned parents and children deemed themselves to be.. scared of Harry.

Aunt Petunia paints a picture for all of Privet Drive to see. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were a nice couple with a neatly trimmed yard, sweet smells of pie outcoming the window every weekend and darling son who has many friends, and he loves his family.

Then, there was Harry Potter. Petunia Dursley’s nephew, who although Petunia tries her best to care for, discipline and help, is a raging, rebellious, troublemaker for them. Harry Potter is the son of Petunia’s drug addict sister and brother-in-law who died drunk driving, and he, is very much their son.

Harry Potter break’s Dudley’s toys and books. Harry Potter wrecks Petunia’s yard and yells at Vernon. Harry Potter locks himself in the shoe cupboard and says he’s being neglected.

Harry Potter is _the_ problem.

* * *

Harry was rocking himself. He was crunched up in the corner of his cupboard like many nights before him, rocking himself back and forth. It was winter. The heater barely reached the small, under the stairs, cupboard that Harry was provided. He continued rocking himself back and forth.

Harry wished to be warm. If he could be warm, he wouldn’t ask for anything more.

He just wishes to be warm.

* * *

Harry got a gift for Christmas this year. He never did, so that was surprising. Aunt Petunia threw at him an oversized tatty jumper and equally bad winter coat. Harry knew other children got things like the latest toy’s that were shown on the telly or funny outfits from stylish aunts but this was as close as he could get. In the winter, Harry wore layers of his cousins large shirts and socks but this year he could wear the jumper and winter coat.

He watches Dudley rip open his presents. Another robot from Aunt Marge. More toy cars.

Harry looks to his own presents; fraying, dull red knitted jumper and grey, torn winter jacket. Harry retreats to his cupboard. 

* * *

A voice talked to Harry today. Harry was trimming the weeds from Aunt Petunia’s rose’s before a voice spoke. It was a low, baratone silk voice. Although it was smooth and deep his way of saying words felt like dirty gravel, crunching underneath.

His name was Tom. He wanted to be Harry’s friend. Harry didn’t have many friends, so he said yes and Tom asked him questions that were hard for Harry to answer, but he kept answering menially because he was scared Tom would leave Harry. Even if Tom may just be a voice in his head, Tom listened like his life depended on it.

Tom was smart. Harry knew that because he gave him advice and words of encouragement, so by Monday, Harry had a room. It was Dudley’s Toy Room, but Harry did things that made the three of them go running to clean up. They yelled at him but Harry stayed unmoving and they shivered, clamming up then left.   
  
Dinner was a silent affair. Dudley kept giving rude glares, but when he met his eye, he shriveled up and looked away; the same was for Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia stared at him a lot. She seemed to be watching Harry’s green eyes, but Harry couldn’t make out what she was thinking. 

Harry slept in a bed for the first time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fair warning, majority of this series will be from Ron or Harry’s POV with the occasional Galatea, Hermione or other person’s POV for a little insight of what the group look like to others.
> 
> The first few chapters are just about the children and their Tom’s.
> 
> Happy Reading.


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